


you are my home now

by rileyhart



Series: I Love You. So Much. [12]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/M, i just enjoy suffering apparently, i really do want jake and amy to be happy, remember when i said i'd write fluff?, so have some MORE angst!, well i didn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 04:36:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11006118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rileyhart/pseuds/rileyhart
Summary: How is Amy supposed to go home, when home doesn't feel like home now?





	you are my home now

**Author's Note:**

> i totally lied about the writing fluff thing.

It takes Amy almost a minute to put her key into the lock of the apartment door, her fingers and hands are shaking so uncontrollably. She steps into the apartment, and is shocked at its emptiness, at its quietness. She drops her keys into the bowl by the door and the noise echoes through the apartment. The door shuts with a quiet click, but it seems somehow amplified, like she’d slammed it rather pressed it gently closed.

She shuts her eyes and leans her head against the back of the door, a lump in her throat and a pain in her chest. The tears come again, and she slides down the door, falling onto the floor. It feels like she’s been crying non-stop since the verdict. She’s exhausted, and she misses him. Already.

The sobs come loudly and painfully, and they fill the empty apartment, but not in the way the apartment is usually filled. Not with laughter, and ‘Noice!’, and ‘coolcoolcoolcool’. Not with Jake calling her ‘Ames’ or ‘Babe’. Not with the two of them in the kitchen, struggling to cook something edible. Not with them tangled on the couch or cuddling in their bed, on the mattress Jake had bought for her.

Not with love. Not with happiness.

It doesn't feel like home without Jake.

She’s angry. She’s upset, but she’s _so angry._

With a blazing fury, she gets up and takes a plate out of a cupboard in the kitchen. She holds it high above her head, in her trembling hands, before throwing it onto the ground.

It shatters spectacularly, pieces spinning in all directions, bouncing off walls and sliding out of sight.

Her chest heaves, and the bizarre pleasure that comes with destroying things fills her. It feels _good_. It feels good to see something be as broken as she feels in this moment.

Amy stands there for what feels like hours, surrounded by the broken plate, her broken heart barely beating, before she finds the strength to step gingerly around the broken pieces and vacuum them up.

She likes the sound of the vacuum. It rattles in a way it shouldn’t ever since Jake moved in, but she likes it. It fills the depressing silence of her apartment.

She wonders how she ever lived here without Jake.

She’s managed to vacuum the whole apartment except the bedroom three times over, when she finally pushes open the door. It’s exactly how they’d left it — or rather how _he’d_ left it. Jake had been the last one in there the morning of the trial. The cupboard is open and the bed isn’t made, and Jake’s leather jacket is hanging from the doorknob of the cupboard. She turns the vacuum off, and silence engulfs her again. She walks over to the open cupboard, and runs her fingers over Jake’s assorted hanging shirts, tops, and jumpers, pulling out his grey hoodie with the ketchup stain on the front (the comfiest of them all), and smells it. It smells of Jake and their laundry detergent (and there’s the slightest whiff of ketchup, but maybe she’s just imagining that). She changes into the hoodie and the Harry Potter pyjama pants Jake bought her a few weeks ago.

Amy goes back into the living and collapses onto the couch, curling into her comfort clothes and clutching a cushion to her chest.

She hates it. She hates it so much.  
It’s not fair. It’s _not fair_ Jake’s in jail. He just got back from Florida. They’d just moved in together. They were happy — _so_ happy. At least he’d gone to Florida to be safe. He’s gone to prison for something he didn’t. Beautiful, soft, Jake. The gentlest person she knows. In jail. Somewhere that is definitely Not Safe.

She picks up her phone, her instinct to call Rosa, like she had during those months Jake had been in Florida.

And then it occurs to her. _She can’t._

Kylie is her next thought, but she can’t deal with Kylie right now. She loves Kylie, but this is all too real, all too full on. Kylie would spend the whole evening pitying her, and Amy’s already wallowing in enough self pity, she doesn’t need anybody else adding on.

So she finds herself calling Gina.

“Amy?”

“Gina.” It comes out more relieved and choked than she means it too.

“Oh, Ames,” 

“Can you come over?” And she doesn’t mean to sound so pathetic.

“Yeah, sure, do you want me bring take-out?”

“Yeah,” Amy nods, “yeah, that’d be good.”

* * *

 Gina’s there within 30 minutes. “I was gonna get pizza, but I felt like Chinese — you like Chinese, right? I couldn’t remember.” She says loudly as she comes through the door.

Amy nods, almost smiling. "Yeah," she murmurs absently, "I like Chinese food."

Gina sits herself down next to Amy on the couch, and hands her a container of food and a plastic fork. "Now eat," she commands. "You look like a sad muppet."

Amy gives a half hearted laugh, taking the food gratefully. It must be a testament to how sad she looks that Gina doesn't mention the ketchup stain.

"Now, I was thinking we should watch something both stupid and hilarious — so basically any reality show," Gina says turning on the TV, and scrolling through Netflix with the remote.

They settle on Worst Cooks in America, and it's exactly the sort of stupid, mind-numbing thing Amy needs right now. She's happy to find that Gina says more than once that Amy should go on the show, and points out when one of the contestants does something Amy's done in her cooking before. It makes her feel the tiniest ounce of normalness, and she's not sure there's anything she can ever do to thank Gina for that.

* * *

They watch almost a whole season before Gina says she should go.

"Oh," Amy's unable to keep the disappoint out of her voice. She likes Gina's loud presence, and she's not sure if she's ready to face the silent apartment again. 

Gina must sense Amy's apprehension, because she turns to her with a I-can't-believe-I'm-about-to-say-this sigh. "Amy, you're allowed to feel sad, okay? But you can't spend the next 15 years wallowing in self pity. You're too good for that, and right now there is a man-child in jail who desperately needs you. So tonight you can cry your guts out, but tomorrow? You are going to begin to destroy Hawkins, and free Jake and Rosa in the protest, like the wonderful nerd goddess you are, okay?"

Amy breathes in deep and nods. "Okay."

Gina pats on her on the cheek. "Good," she says in a finalised tone, like what she'd come her to do had been completed.

* * *

 The next morning, Amy wakes up in bed alone. Her arm reaches blindly out into the space where Jake should be. She longs to touch him, to run her fingers through his fluffy bed hair.

The overwhelming urge to cry burns in her eyes and chest, but she pushes it down, and sits up in bed, swinging her legs over the side.

One thought, and one thought only, blazes in her mind, an ember sparking to life.

_Destroy Hawkins, free Jake and Rosa._


End file.
